


Two Gentlemen Of New York

by queenfanfiction



Category: Fake News RPF, Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: M/M, SOWSO, prompt!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:09:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenfanfiction/pseuds/queenfanfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the whole "the gentleman is correct in sitting" rant, Anthony receives some much-needed gratitude from Jon in several forms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Gentlemen Of New York

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unquietspirit](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=unquietspirit).



> Written for Unquietspirit and her unfilled prompt from DW's ThirdMonday. Also written in shameless exchange for Rachel/JonErpenbach fic. :D

_The sad irony is that he's never felt such burning anger, such rage pulsing through his veins and making his blood pressure crash through the carefully-constructed roof that houses his usual professional countenance, hasn't wanted to throw things at the wall (or certain other people) since 9/11._

 _The main difference, though, is that when he watched the World Trade Center crumble to rubble and ash before his eyes on the television screen, his anger had been tinged with an impotent despair. The terrorists had won, in their own way: the buildings had fallen, people had died, and there was nothing he nor anyone else could do about it except watch and pray._

 _This time, however, as he watches his colleagues discuss the passing of a bill as if hundreds of lives are not at stake—the very same lives put at risk on those fateful September days to selflessly save the lives of others—this anger has a very different quality to it. There is no impotence this time, no despair, no sense that he could do nothing to change the course of history._

 _This time, he is part of that history._

 _When the speaker announces the desire of the gentleman from New York to take the floor, he barely hesitates. He knows deep down what is the proper thing to do in this situation, in what ways he could best phrase the arguments that will be old news to the other Democrats and will do nothing to convince their Republican counterparts, what dwindling options are left should the bill fail to pass like so many others before it, almost all of which would lead to the same depressing conclusion that Congress is broken in the worst of ways._

 _Instead, he storms up to the podium, yanks the microphone towards him hard enough for the feedback to be heard in the back of the House chambers, and proceeds to ask the Republican sons-of-bitches to kindly shut the fuck up and get around to the damn vote already._

 _He doesn't use those exact words, of course. A true gentleman of Congress always uses better language than that._

* *

Anthony had hardly gotten himself situated in the first cab available at Grand Central Station when his BlackBerry started vibrate with an incoming call. He held off answering long enough to give the driver his address (finally, a weekend back in New York City, away from the useless bickering and political shuffling of Washington that was starting to drive him completely _insane_ —hopefully the break would rejuvenate his crumbling sanity before the session resumed on Monday), glance at the flashing caller ID, and grin before he could stop himself.

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again," Anthony said mock-sternly into his phone. "If you want me as your guest, have your people talk to my people, and I'm sure we'll work something out."

On the other end of the line, Jon's giggle crackled with static. "What if it's from a friend asking nicely?"

"Depends on the friend." Anthony settled deeper into the leather car seat, watching the night lights of New York flicker past the window. "How're you doing, Jon?"

"Eh, the usual. Friday's always a bitch, you know—I can only watch the news on TV and do shit-all about it." Anthony heard Jon shift the phone to another ear; a muffled rumble of words that sounded suspiciously like an Olbermann monologue filtered through from the background. "Speaking of, today's been an absolute blast. Every single news network won't stop covering C-SPAN for some odd reason."

 _Oh boy._ Anthony let his head fall back against the headrest with a dull thud. "You don't say."

"Uh-huh. C-SPAN really needs to hire that New York congressman for PR, it would do wonder for their ratings." Jon took a breath, and when he continued the teasing was gone. "You did good, man."

"Yeah?" Anthony let out a shaky laugh. He'd never felt such insecurity after ranting on the House floor before—but then, he'd laid out his entire hand of emotional cards for all to see which, in politics, was never a very good idea. On a personal level, it left him feeling raw, exposed, and so goddamn _pathetic._ "It sure seemed a good idea at the time."

"Anthony, I'm serious. Those bastards deserved everything you gave them, if not more." Jon snorted. "I'm surprised you managed to remember to keep calling them 'gentlemen' throughout the whole thing."

"Yeah, well, not all of us work for cable, you know. Traditions to be upheld and all that." The taxi slowed to a halt at the entrance to Anthony's apartment building; Anthony shifted his BlackBerry to his shoulder so that he could fish out his wallet. "I doubt it's going to do much more than give my opponent in 2013 plenty of campaign fodder, anyway, but for what it's worth—"

" _Fuck your mayoral run,_ " Jon cut in, sounding so earnest that Anthony nearly dropped the change the driver handed him. "This is bigger than that, Anthony, so much bigger. Don't you see? Your little rant got hours' worth of coverage already, and Stephen and I are already planning to do a piece each on Monday. You're helping undermine the Republicans and their cockblocking agenda by drawing attention to what they've been trying to hide—God help us, but acting up on the Congressional floor might get something done! Even if the Zadroga bill doesn't pass right _now,_ the public's not going to be as forgiving the next time around."

Jon's speech carried Anthony out of the taxi and into his apartment building and well into the stairwell that would take him up to his apartment; Jon's words echoed around Anthony in the short distance from phone to ear, almost sounding like a prophetic benediction that couldn't help but give Anthony another spark of hope.

Maybe, just maybe, he hadn't been another Democrat publicly weeping for lost causes. Maybe, this time, it would actually make a difference.

"Anthony? You still there?"

The moment passed. "Yeah, sorry, just thinking." Anthony cleared the final steps in a single stretch and shoved open the fire escape door for the third floor, already patting himself down for his keys. "Thanks, Leibowitz. I needed that."

"Welcome, Weiner. Any time." Jon paused. "Actually, I've been meaning to thank you for what you've done. In person."

"Oh? When were you thin—" Anthony hesitated just outside the door of his apartment, with one hand on the doorknob and his key halfway in the lock. He could hear the muffled sounds of television noise coming from inside, which was a bit strange given that he certainly hadn't left the TV on the entire time he was in Washington... "Jon, where are you?"

Jon laughed, and Anthony heard its echo through the thin wood of the door. "Why don't you come in and see for yourself?"

Anthony obeyed, tossing his keys on the table behind the door and flicking on the hall lights in one fluid motion—

—and Jon ducked out of the living room into the foyer, wearing nothing more than a gray T-shirt and a thin pair of boxers that proved quite clearly that Jon compensated for his height in other, more important ways.

Anthony blinked and tried to say something witty or coherent, but the sudden redirection of bloodflow south only allowed him a very strangled "Hello."

"Hey." Jon grinned, a little self-conscious. "You know, true gentlemen always give their thanks in person."

Anthony cleared his throat with effort and croaked, "And a true gentleman never says no."

The desperately-passionate, more-tongue-involved-than-should-be-legal kiss Jon gave him made Anthony suspect that he was in for either the blowjob of his life, or the best fuck he'd had in years. As it turned out, he was wrong.

He got both, and more besides.

* *

To: A. Weiner [foot.long_weiner@gmail.com]  
From: J. Stew [beef.stew@gmail.com]  
Subject: You always check your email first thing in the AM...

Haven't left. Just out to get us some breakfast. Go back to sleep, Anthony. (You deserve it.)

J.

* *

A (8:30am): jon where r u  
J (8:32am): At the deli downtown. The line's crazy. Bagels ready in 10. Go back to sleep.  
A (8:33am): but i was hoping for breakfast in bed  
J (8:35am): That's what I was planning.  
J (8:36am): But since I can't cook for shit, bagels it is.  
A (8:36am): not *that* breakfast jon don't be stupid  
J (8:37am): Oh.  
J (8:38am): Be back in 2.


End file.
